


Ambiguous

by GoddessofBirth



Series: Tag You're It [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is creepering, Episode Tag, Erica is Sherlock, Isaac is Isaac, M/M, Other, Stiles is hungry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may know who the kanima is, but it doesn't mean everything is clear.  And really, they've got to stop meeting like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ambiguous

**Author's Note:**

> Episode Tag to 2 x 05, _Venomous_

He's standing in the middle of the all night grocery store, debating between Cocoa Pebbles and Cookie Crunch, when a breath of air blows across his ear.

 

“I'm not sure that much sugar is a smart move at this time of night. Especially for you.”

 

He clutches the box of Cookie Crunch to his chest and whirls around. “Oh my _god_! Don't _do_ that!”

 

Derek is standing behind him, a small smirk on his face and his pack on either side. Well, at least Erica and Isaac. Boyd is probably somewhere out in the night, kicking little kids' bikes over.

 

“Shouldn't you be in bed?” Derek asks.

 

“Shouldn't you be watching QVC and ordering more hair gel?” Stiles backs a little further into the shelf, starts edging to the side. He may think Derek won't actually hurt him – at least not permanently, but he's not taking any bets on the other two.

 

Derek makes a small humming sound, the one that means  _how cute, the human actually thinks he's funny_ , which, screw that, Stiles is freaking  _hilarious_ , especially under pressure. He scoots another few inches, before Isaac is suddenly there, cutting off his escape. This is really getting old, but he pastes a smile on his face and doesn't flinch back.

 

“Seriously, Derek,” he looks between the three of them, all leather jackets and bad attitudes, before snorting. “I feel like I should starting singing _Greased Lightening_.” The reference goes right over Derek's head, which he'd expected, and Erica just rolls her eyes and flips her hair. Isaac's lips twitch, though, before he manages to get them back under control.

 

“Ah ha!” Stiles shouts triumphantly. “There _is_ more than one emotion in there.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek says, all pseudo patience. Lately he's felt Derek is working some serious split personality disorder, one minute someone Stiles actually almost likes, and the next, just an asshole werewolf he hopes some Hunter takes out, before he or Scott or Allison have to.

 

“Derek,” he returns, just as patiently, arms wrapped around the cereal box so hard that he's slowly crushing it. “Is this where I remind you we're in a public place? Lots and lots of witnesses around? So no dragging Stiles off to let your minions rough him up some more. Which, by the way, I gotta say, I think I'm gonna have to issue them a bad performance review. How many times have they gotten their asses handed to them?”

 

Isaac braces his hand on the shelf and leans in close. “Good enough to kick your ass tonight. How's the head?”

 

“Whoa, whoa, _down_ , crazy eyes,” Stiles says, at the same time Derek puts a hand on Isaac's shoulder and jerks him back.

 

“Isaac,” he barks.

 

Then Stiles comes very close to freaking the fuck out, because Derek reaches out with a hand and settles it on the side of Stiles' head, carefully feeling along the bruise. His face is expressionless as he examines it, but his fingers are light and almost gentle, and that is  _not_ a thing he remotely associates with Derek Hale. A few seconds pass while Stiles vacillates between screaming or babbling, and then Derek drops his hand.

 

“You'll be fine.”

 

“Ha ha, well, good to know. So, ah, not that I don't like being accosted at 2AM in the morning, but I'd always kind of hoped it would be Emma Watson doing the accosting. So, are we done? Because I'd like to take my cereal and go home.”

 

“Sure, Stiles.” Stiles lets out a sigh and starts to edge past Isaac – there's no way in _hell_ he's getting within six inches of Erica, who hasn't said anything but keeps looking at him like she's considering having him as the next course in a bloody meal – when Derek puts a hand out and blocks his path.

 

“Just...one question.” Of course. “The Kanima...Jackson...where would he go? Who would he trust? Who would hide him?”

 

_Danny,_ is the answer Stiles' brain instantly blares out, but he presses his lips together to keep it in. He's not getting one more person mixed up in this mess, especially someone like Danny, who's never done anything but be nice. Which, of course, always begs the question of why he's friends with Jackson, or why Jackson gives him the time of day, but whatever...Stiles has far more important mysteries to worry about.

 

Instead he shrugs. “No idea. Jackson isn't exactly the friendly type.”

 

“Lie.” Erica finally pipes up, all proud, like she just aced an AP exam.

 

“Excellent job, Sherlock,” Stiles snarks, rolling his eyes. “Give it some time and you might actually figure out _important_ things. Like not to mess with Allison. How's the paralysis going? Any lingering numbness?”

 

“Stiles!” Derek's in his face now. “Who?” Stiles runs down a list of names, anybody he might could give, but there's no one he hates enough to leave to the tender mercies of Derek's pack, not when they've shown time and again that they have no qualms about little things like murder and kidnapping. He's really starting to wonder if the Hunters are the bad guys here. He hates it, _hates_ it, because he can't figure out who he's supposed to be protecting, and who he needs to throw to the wind, and he thinks he might actually be upset if anybody dies, even the leather clad assholes in front of him. (Okay, maybe not Erica, but he's allowing himself that one uncharitable thought.)

 

“I. _don't_. _know_.” He loosens one hand from its death grip on the box and shoves hard against Derek's jacket, just as Mrs. Hickins, white hair shining just a little blue in the glare of the lights, comes around the corner. Derek grins and moves back, crossing his arms and attempting to look less menacing.

 

“Fine. Just remember, Jackson isn't in control. Keep your mouth shut and it's your fault if Jackson kills them. You willing to watch someone else die? Like that mechanic?”

 

Stiles' gut twists hard and low, and if he wasn't sure it would break his hand, he would punch Derek, right in that model jaw.

 

“Who's fault will it be if _you_ kill them?” he spits out, then turns to walk away. He gets maybe two steps before the cereal box is plucked from his hands. He spins around. “The hell?”

 

Erica is throwing the Cookie Crunch back on the shelf, and Derek appears beside him again, hands him another box. Cheerios.

 

“You'll sleep better.” He waits impassively for Stiles to walk away.

 

“Oh my _god_!” Stiles manages. “And you wonder why I don't want to join your pack. Control freak!”

 

“Good-night, Stiles. You decide you want to save someone's life, you know how to find me.”

 

Stiles narrows his eyes, but decides it isn't worth the fight. He takes his Cheerios and stalks away, muttering under his breath and halfheartedly throwing Derek the finger over his shoulder as he goes. When he's out in the parking lot, he shifts from foot to foot, then pulls out his phone. If Jackson hadn't hurt  _him_ , he can't imagine he'd touch Danny, but....

 

It's 2AM, and the rest of Beacon Hills should be asleep, but he fires off a text anyway, something light, that could be excused as drunken stupidity.  _Hey man, what's up?_

 

It's less than ten seconds later that his phone chimes.  _Not now, Stilinski. I'm busy._

 

Son of a bitch.

 


End file.
